


Harvest Barren, Wine Spilled

by ourspecialtonight



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Black Whale Arc, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Rough Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Succession Contest Arc (Hunter X Hunter), Trans Kurapika
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourspecialtonight/pseuds/ourspecialtonight
Summary: After a brief encounter in the belly of the Black Whale, Kurapika and Chrollo both walk away feeling tricked and used. Efforts to gain the upper hand reveal that they’d both been a little more honest than they intended.
Relationships: Kurapika/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Comments: 46
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

The slight rocking motion of the room was not solely responsible for the nausea Kurapika felt, but it didn’t help, either. The storm outside must have been violent, but there were no portholes around to say for sure. The entire Fifth Deck of the Black Whale sat well below the surface of the water. A constant dripping sound was inescapable throughout the deck; the berths were cold and damp and claustrophobic. It was nothing like the clean grandeur that Kurapika had grown used to on the First Deck, but he would take the temporary reprieve from the carnage of the succession contest. 

The long blond wig was itchy, and post-coital sweat made the strands of synthetic hair stick to his neck and shoulders. A slight soreness ached between his legs; he normally didn’t allow that type of sex. But any thoughts of altering his body had died along with his brethren that night six years ago. Now the outward features of his body were meaningless. He had feet to get to the stolen eyes, and hands to dig a hole to bury them in. Anything beyond that was a waste of time, hollow decorations on a future corpse. But occasionally his indifference played to his advantage, when he needed to disappear into a crowd or, in this case, work himself into someone’s intimate favor undetected. 

His bed partner lay next to him, his breath slowly returning to normal. Kurapika could barely look at him. All this trouble, all this horror, and he’d come up with nothing. His target seemed completely ignorant of the succession contest. There were no pieces of evidence or personal effects to be found in the small cabin. No traps or nen effects at work. The only thing Kurapika had gained here was shame. 

But (god forgive him) Chrollo was attractive. And good in bed. 

He swung his legs over the edge of the small bed and gathered his clothes from the floor. He pulled his underwear on and slipped back into the nursing uniform he’d borrowed from Leorio’s clinic, a short, form-fitting thing that felt ridiculous but did the job. 

“I know it’s you, Kurapika,” came a soft voice from behind him. 

Kurapika’s head snapped to attention, and his eyes shifted to a furious red under his contact lenses. His chains materialized instantly on his fingers, like the hackles raising on a rabid dog. Chrollo’s head rested on one arm, and his dark hair hung loose over his forehead. His expression was curious, and not entirely unkind. 

“How long have you known?” Kurapika let his voice drop back to its natural brusqueness. 

“Since slightly before you approached me.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I wanted to see what would happen,” he said, idly fingering the hem of the bedsheet. “And now I know.” 

Kurapika fumed. Unwanted memories of their encounter played in his head: his easy responsiveness, his soft moans, his breathless requests (each one graciously and skillfully fulfilled). It was all just acting, just manipulation. The motions of Kurapika’s body were a tool, and nothing more. But Chrollo didn’t know that. And now those images were going to live in his head forever, for him to use as he pleased. 

Before Kurapika could fully think it through, Judgment Chain shot from his little finger straight into Chrollo’s chest, almost acting on its own. Chrollo flinched as it lodged in his heart.

The conditions came easily to Kurapika’s lips. “I’m sure you remember how this works. You will tell no one about what happened tonight, explicitly or by implication. You will not reveal that we’ve been in contact at all. You will obey these rules, or you will die instantly.” 

He wished he could order Chrollo to forget it entirely. But even his Judgment Chain had limits. 

Chrollo sighed. “Was that really necessary?”

“What did you expect?” Kurapika snapped. “You tricked me.”

“No. You tried— and failed— to trick me. Try harder next time.” 

Kurapika shoved his dark glasses back on his face, picked up his low-heeled shoes, and stormed out the room barefoot. He checked his watch: quarter after one in the morning. Dammit. He wouldn’t have time to go back to the First Deck to change clothes before his next meeting. He couldn’t push it later; Bill had been on duty for twenty-four hours straight. Asking him to cover four more had already been an enormous favor. 

He had no choice but to head straight for the boiler room on Deck Four, empty-handed and dressed as a woman. 

He cursed himself for his stupidity. The whole operation had been entirely too easy from the start, and all his better judgment had failed him. Locating Chrollo using his Dowsing Chain had been simple enough. (He’d tried Pakunoda too, but she wasn’t showing up on the ship. None of the others met his condition of having been personally introduced before.) He’d found Chrollo sitting alone in the Deck Five cafeteria, drinking coffee even though it was already late at night. The conversation had come easily, the smiles and casual touches. Kurapika’s questions teasing and artful, Chrollo’s answers evasive and humoring. Following Chrollo back to his cabin, with an excuse about his own being flooded, had felt like the most natural thing in the world. But it only felt that way, Kurapika realized now with horror, because he’d had a willing conspirator in his deception, who not only allowed it but encouraged it. And for what? Chrollo’s own amusement? His cheeks burned. 

After he got through the checkpoint between Decks Five and Four using his Hunter license, Kurapika threw the wig in the trash and put his shoes back on, grudgingly. The boiler room was located near the stern of the ship, so he hurried along to keep from running late. He’d been lucky that someone was taking up the gauntlet of killing the Spider, even if it wasn’t his own top priority anymore. It only made sense to form an alliance, however tenuous. 

When he got there, the vast room appeared empty, though most of it was too dark to see, save the sections illuminated by the red emergency lights. Dripping water echoed through the warm, dry darkness. Kurapika checked his watch again. 1:30. He should be here. Then a silky voice came from the dark depths of the boiler room.

“What do you have for me?” 

Kurapika sighed in frustration as Hisoka came into view. “Not much, I’m afraid. I was hoping to get at least a little information out of him, but he didn’t give anything up.”

“You didn’t think it would be easy, did you? The boss holds his cards close to the vest.”

“I can give you Chrollo’s location,” Kurapika offered, knowing it wasn’t much. 

“I have that information already, and I’m not keen to use it right now. What else?”

Kurapika thought a moment. “I’m reasonably confident that not all of the Spiders even came onboard, since I couldn’t locate Pakunoda. I’ll have to use more traditional methods to locate the others, but that will take longer.” 

Hisoka’s lips curved into an unhumorous smile. “I already knew that. What else?”

“Nothing,” Kurapika admitted. “I need more time.” 

“That’s a pity. You’ll have to work a little harder to earn what I have for you.”

“What do you know?” Kurapika demanded. He did not have time to play games. His clan’s eyes were calling out to him louder with each passing day. He had every reason to believe that they were onboard the ship, and occupying the same space with them, unable to reach them, was torture. 

“Fine, I’ll give you a taste.” Hisoka mulled over his words. “The Fourth Prince has a new companion who is quite... _ eye-catching _ .”

“You mean his nen beast. What is it? What abilities does it have?” Royal politics and conflicting loyalties had prevented Kurapika from getting anywhere near Fourth Prince Tserriednich, or anyone close to him. Hisoka, at least, was a free agent who could investigate as he pleased. 

Hisoka looked him up and down and raised a painted eyebrow. “You know, I told you to use any means necessary with Chrollo. How interesting, that you jumped straight to seduction. If he fucks like he fights, I’m surprised that you can still walk.” 

Kurapika’s breath caught in his throat, and he grit his teeth. He couldn’t even think of a retort that wouldn’t lead to further humiliation. 

Hisoka turned on his heel and waved with his fingers before heading back into the depths of the boiler room. “I’ll text you when I’m ready to meet again. And remember, I have  _ eyes _ in the back of my head.” 

Kurapika left the way he’d come in, embarrassed and upset. The walk back to the First Deck was a long one. By the time he reached the opulent hallway that led to all the Princes’ quarters, his feet were aching from the heels. He wanted nothing more than to fall into his small, rarely-used bed and sleep, though he’d likely be on duty for another twelve hours or longer. And when he reached into his purse to fish his keys out, he realized that the burner phone he used to communicate with Hisoka was missing. It must have fallen out, either on the long walk back from the Fifth Deck, or, god forbid, in Chrollo’s cabin. It could be literally anywhere on the massive ship. 

“Dammit!” Kurapika wasn’t sure if he’d rather punch something or cry. In the end, he did neither, instead slumping against the wall and scrubbing his hand over his face. His chance at retrieving the eyes was fast diminishing. But there was nothing to be done about it tonight. Next time he could get a night off, he’d have to track down Hisoka again. There was no way, as far as he could tell, to keep the phone from falling into the wrong hands, but at least Hisoka’s messages were coded. 

He must have cursed too loudly, because Bill opened the door to the Queen’s suite and poked his head out into the hall. 

“Everything okay out here, Kurapika?” 

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” he lied. He followed Bill back into the large antechamber and shut the door behind them. 

“Wow, you look nice,” Bill said. Then, quieter, “You could have just told me it was a date, I still would have covered for you. You’ve earned a little break.”

“It’s not a date!” Kurapika snapped, then immediately regretted it. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry, Bill. Thank you for covering, I really am grateful. You can go rest, I’ll take over here.”

“Okay. See you in the morning,” Bill said, and headed off to his room. 

Kurapika stopped by his own room to change clothes before returning to his post. He ached for the familiar comfort of his Kurtan clothing, but he had left it all behind on the mainland. After the Yorknew debacle, he’d told himself he wasn’t worthy of it until his mission was complete and his brethren were laid to rest. So he changed back into his plain black suit, which was still preferable to that nursing uniform. 

When he came back out to the living area, he saw Queen Oito dozing in an overstuffed armchair with Woble in her arms. Kurapika knelt down next to her. “Your Highness,” he said. When she didn’t wake, he touched her arm gently. “Queen Oito.” 

Oito startled awake and clutched Woble, then relaxed when she saw who it was. “Kurapika,” she exhaled. 

“It’s late. Do you want to rest in your room for a while? I can take her.” He nodded at the baby, who was starting to fuss. 

Oito looked sleepily down at her child. “I should feed her first.”

Kurapika made to leave and give her privacy, but she motioned him to stay. She discreetly opened one side of her robe and nestled the baby inside so she could nurse. “You know, I was happy when you asked for an evening off. You work so hard for us, and I worry about you sometimes. I hope you had a nice time tonight.” 

All the exhaustion from the past days seemed to catch up with Kurapika at once. He collapsed into a chair and rested his head in his hands. It wasn’t professional, but Oito never stood on ceremony with him. He liked that about her. “It wasn’t for pleasure, I’m afraid. I have other responsibilities.” 

“I know.” She looked disappointed. “I just hope you won’t push yourself past the brink.” 

Whatever storm was outside earlier had quieted, and the floor felt as still and solid as land once again. Woble settled against her mother’s breast, blissfully ignorant of the many threats just outside the walls. Oito stroked her wispy curls and hummed pieces of an unfamiliar lullaby. If he closed his eyes and listened closely, Kurapika could almost hear the summer crickets in Lukso, from before he got too old to lie on his mother’s lap as she and her sisters joined their voices with the frogs and insects to sing the youngest children to sleep. But even this moment of domestic peace couldn’t dull the livid heat of shame in Kurapika’s chest. His burdens and failures felt impossibly heavy. 

_ Past the brink. _ He’d slept with the leader of the Phantom Troupe. The brink was somewhere in the distant past. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real joke here is that Bill thinks a sexy nurse uniform is appropriate attire for a date. Bit of a weird choice for Kurapika too, but I figure part of his backstory is that he “just got off work, care for a drink?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding out that Kurapika has been colluding with Hisoka, Chrollo decides to steal one last thing from him. But first, he needs some collateral.

“What do you make of this?” Chrollo asked over breakfast the next morning, and slid the phone across the sticky table. The level five cafeteria was sparsely populated at this hour; most passengers preferred to sleep in. Even Shizuku and Bonolenov still had the gauzy haze of sleep in their eyes, but they’d come when Chrollo called. They leaned in and read the short string of incoming texts:

_ Sunday, 11:55 pm:  _ 4♦

_ Friday, 4:18 pm: _ 2♠ 👁👁 

“Is this the only thing on it? No location data or call history?” Shizuku asked, flipping through it.

“That’s it.” Chrollo pared a slice off his apple and offered it to her on the blade of his knife. She popped it in her mouth and passed the phone to Bonolenov, who took a turn examining the phone. 

Chrollo had played along with Kurapika’s seduction out of pure curiosity, he told himself, so having a major link to Hisoka dropped in his lap was a pleasant surprise. He could only assume that each text was a summons, maybe with each card suit corresponding to a location. If that was true, then yesterday, Friday, Kurapika could have come straight from a meeting with Hisoka, perhaps on his orders. That bothered Chrollo more than he liked to admit. 

Despite what had happened with Uvogin and Pakunoda, Chrollo had been willing to let bygones be bygones. Uvo had lost fair and square, and Paku…the blame could be split many ways. But if Kurapika chose to throw his lot in with Hisoka, that pulled him right back into the line of fire. A real shame to let someone like him go to waste, but the welfare of the Spider had to come first. No matter the cost. 

“That’s definitely Hisoka texting. Look at the card suits. Whose phone is this?” Bono said. 

“I can’t say.” He hoped that would be enough to tip them off-- who else had the ability to tie someone’s tongue like this? But these two… they were dear to him, but if he wanted someone to pick up on his clues, he’d be better off talking to Machi or Phinks. Shalnark would have gotten it, too. Chrollo swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. 

Shizuku and Bono had asked to team up with him almost immediately after he gave the order to find and kill Hisoka, and he’d agreed. If they felt vulnerable to Hisoka’s abilities, it was far preferable that they all stick together, where he could offer some protection. He didn’t know if he could take any more losses. 

“What is that, little eyes?” Shizuku pushed her glasses up and squinted at the screen over Bono’s shoulder. 

“I have reason to believe it’s referring to the scarlet eyes of the Kurta.” He waited a second, hoping that wasn’t too much to say. But his heart stayed intact. “Can either of you think of anyone on board who might have an interest in that?” 

“What about Tserriednich?” Bonolenov piped up.

“Who?” Shizuku said. Chrollo wondered the same thing. 

“Tserriednich! He’s the Fourth Prince of Kakin.” 

“Oh right, you’re from Kakin!” she said.

“The Gyudondond tribe never ceded sovereignty to the Kakin Empire,” Bono said testily, “so no, I am not. But I’d bet anything it’s him. He considers himself a collector, particularly body parts. And indigenous groups are subhuman trash, as far as he’s concerned. Two talented musicians from my tribe, young girls, were invited to the Capital to perform for him one time, years ago. They were never seen again. There were rumors that he keeps their severed hands in jars. We nearly went to war over it.” 

Chrollo was mildly impressed. Bono had sailed right over the obvious answer and landed on something far more interesting. If Kurapika was negotiating with Hisoka for information about this Tserriednich character in pursuit of the scarlet eyes, it would be more beneficial to buy him back from Hisoka than kill him and sever the tie. But he would need to ensure trust between himself and Kurapika, or, failing that, at least hold some leverage against him. He had the seed of an idea to get both. 

“What else can you tell me about him?” Chrollo asked.

“The Kakin royal family organized this whole trip, so he must be up on the First Deck. And if he’s onboard, he must have brought his collection with him. They’ll be well-guarded. I don’t know why Hisoka would be talking to him, though…” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Chrollo said. “I appreciate your insight.”

“Anything you need from us, Boss?” Shizuku asked.

“No, not right now. Just keep a low profile. I’ll text you later.” Chrollo stood up and drained the last of his coffee. Normally he would spend a little more time planning this kind of heist, but with an indolent prince as the target, it was hardly worth the effort. He left the cafeteria, then flipped open Bandit’s Secret to the page marked Convert Hands. Two tattoo-like arrows appeared on his hands: the left hand arrow pointing up, the right hand pointing down. He bookmarked the page so that he wouldn’t have to hold it open as he used his right hand, then headed out toward the interdeck passageway.

Stealth was not usually Chrollo’s preferred method. He enjoyed making a big show, full of stylized chaos, but that wasn’t what this errand called for. As he rounded the corner near the checkpoint between Deck Five and Deck Four, he brushed the fingers of his left hand against a middle-aged man walking in the opposite direction, and was instantly transformed into a copy of him, his outward form identical except for the arrow marks on his hands.

When he reached the crowded checkpoint, he moved lightning-fast to place both hands on the more important-looking of the two guards, and their appearances swapped.

“Hey! What the hell?” the guard shouted, now in the body of the middle-aged passenger. He took off after Chrollo and tried to grab him by the shoulders. “What did you do? Who are you?”

“Get off me, you filthy dog,” Chrollo barked, in the guard’s voice, and kicked the man back into the crowd. Then he strode through the checkpoint into Deck Four.

He continued like that through three more decks, daisy-chaining his way through bodies, in and out of uniforms as needed. His mood started to sour around Deck Two, the way it often did around the ultra-wealthy. Who the hell needed a fleet of luxury vehicles onboard a ship? Did they suppose there would be paved roads and valet parking on the Dark Continent? But as bad as Deck Two was, it didn’t prepare him for the excessive grandeur of Deck One. The walls and carpets were a perfect, untouched white, broken up by gold crown moulding and deep blood-red tapestries punctuating the long hallway. The door fixtures appeared to be solid gold as well. Opulent wealth made him sick. Stealing this prince’s gruesome little trinkets (the fruit of Chrollo’s own efforts, years ago) would be a pleasure all on its own. He looked forward to many return trips once Hisoka was taken care of.

The hallway was eerily empty, with no guards posted at any of the fourteen doors. Chrollo wandered down the hall in the guise of some kind of soldier-for-hire, a big guy with an ugly haircut and a shiny gun. As he’d traveled up the levels, some people had put up more of a fight, and he’d had to put down a couple of them. This mercenary’s original was staining the white carpet scarlet behind the last set of double doors.

1001, 1002, 1003, 1004. Why wouldn’t the princes simply be housed in order of their birth? He pushed the buzzer at room 1004, and a woman answered. Chrollo immediately picked up on two things: her aura, which was of respectable strength, and how incredibly ill-at-ease she seemed. This woman looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and her eyes had a tense, haunted quality to them. She looked a little like Kurapika in that respect, to be honest.

“First Prince Benjamin sent you?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Chrollo, because why not. “And you are?”

She stepped back to allow him in. “Theta. The Fourth Prince is resting right now, but you can speak to me if you need anything. I’m his chief bodyguard.”

Chrollo didn’t waste a second laying both hands on her. She was the perfect cover. The mercenary’s face contorted in horror as she looked down at her new body, then back at Chrollo, inhabiting her own.

“Shh. Listen,” her own voice commanded her, “You can live, if you tell me where to find your prince’s trophy collection. Play your part for five minutes, and everything will be fine.”

“Don’t do this,” she begged in a hushed whisper. “You don’t understand, please don’t do this. Leave now, while you still can!”

Chrollo sighed, then pulled the mercenary’s knife from her belt and slit her throat. She gurgled as she went down, eyes wide open in shock. He wished Shizuku were here to clean up, but with luck, he’d be in and out before anyone even came across the body.

The tap of Theta’s high heels echoed off the walls, beating an uncertain rhythm with Chrollo’s inexpert feet. The suite was massive, with ceilings at least twenty feet high and all the walls stacked with oil paintings, intricate tapestries, and exotic taxidermied beasts. But the treasures Chrollo sought weren’t out in the open. He poked his head in every door until he came across the right one. It was immediately obvious.

An entire wall of body parts. A pair of mummified torsos, with enameled flowers sprouting from their exposed abdominal cavities. A thigh bone with elaborately patterned silver inlays. An intact severed head of a child. Fetuses and organs pickling in jars. And ten scarlet eyes, each floating in its own canister. Chrollo had seen far more than his share of carnage, but for him it was a simple fact of life. To be neither feared nor avoided, but also not something to be fetishized like this. This wasn’t normal.

He pulled out Bandit’s Secret again, and flipped to the page with Fun Fun Cloth, with Convert Hands still bookmarked. A large gray tarp materialized in his hand, and he quickly pulled all the eyes off the shelves and wrapped them up. Each eye was a powerful bargaining chip, and it would be best to take this prince out of the equation altogether, to keep Kurapika’s loyalties from dividing any further. He spared a glance for the young musicians’ hands, for Bonolenov, but they weren’t there. Maybe just a rumor, after all.

With the package of loot now a palm-sized bundle in his hand, he stuck it in his pocket and headed for the door. As he touched the knob, a powerfully malevolent aura swept around him. It filled his every sense with death rattles, the slick of spilling blood, the scent of copper and iron, raw meat and rotting bone and exposed cartilage. It spoke of brutality, born not of lust for survival, not of desire for power, or glory, or challenge, but of… boredom. Contempt. 

“Theta?”

Chrollo turned. A man, probably just a bit older than Chrollo, was standing at the threshold of what must have been an inner bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Between his expensive leisure attire and careless posture, Chrollo knew exactly who he was. The aura didn’t emanate from him alone, though.

It came from the beast behind him. With the head of a woman, the body of a distorted horse, clawlike hands and slavering jaws, it must have stood at least ten feet tall. Its horned head extended into Chrollo’s personal space atop a snakelike neck and stared at him with eyes that spiralled straight into madness. Then its entire face hinged upwards to reveal a dripping, alien mouth that held a whole other dead-eyed human head within it, broken apart and stitched back together. The beast emitted a guttural sound as it stared him down, and the floor reverberated a message:  _ WE SEE YOU.  _ Then the creature extended its long tongue and sliced Chrollo’s cheek. He was filled with cold dread that sank deep into his core, but he forced his mind to stay clear.

Now he understood why Theta had looked so rattled. He had encountered nen beasts before, but those were mostly little insectoid parasites, or maybe something just a bit larger. Nothing like this. Part of him was fascinated; he wanted to get a closer look and understand the beast and its abilities. Could Tserriednich manipulate it? Was he even aware of it? But the other part of him had to work hard just to get his pounding heart under control. And an even smaller part was glad that it was himself doing this errand, instead of Kurapika. Kurapika wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Your Highness.”

“Isn’t it time for my lesson?” Tserriednich said.

“Of course.” Chrollo had no idea what kind of lesson that could be, but the situation had changed rapidly and he was in no position to refuse. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been practicing?”

Tserriednich took an active stance and activated  _ ren.  _ Chrollo was relieved that the lesson would be easy to play along with, at least. His personal aura was quite well-developed for a beginner, and just as dark and threatening as his nen beast’s. Very fitting for someone of his tastes. 

“Very good. You’re progressing well.” He would definitely be back to steal the prince’s abilities, once he’d learned enough to develop them, and maybe he could find a way to acquire the beast as well. 

Chrollo noted that Tserriednich hadn’t acknowledged the creature’s presence at all. He showed very little awareness of his surroundings in general. Being a prince with a whole staff of soldiers, Hunters, and bodyguards would yield that kind of complacency, Chrollo supposed. Very unseemly, to take so little responsibility for oneself. This Theta woman had probably been inflating his ego around his nen abilities, too. 

“Oh, and this too,” Tserriednich said, and activated  _ hatsu.  _ To Chrollo’s surprise, a second nen beast materialized between them. This one was just as large, but more insectoid in form, with a gaping void in its thorax, long, bulbous fingers, and feet like tree roots. 

“Show me what it does,” Chrollo said, practically salivating. The things he could do with an ability like that.

“Oh. I don’t know yet; it just appears.” He looked impassively at the creature, hands in the pockets of his sweatsuit. 

“Okay.” Chrollo pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. A clear explanation of the ability was a necessary condition for stealing it, but the prince had obviously had these incredible abilities just handed to him, like everything else. “It’s going to be a short lesson today, but the best one you’ll ever get.”

Tserriednich looked at him curiously, and Chrollo met his gaze. The equine nen beast with the human head peered at him too, as if daring him to make a move against the oblivious prince. 

“Never allow your supernatural abilities to outstrip your natural ones. You will live and die by your body and your wits. I’ve seen many naturally talented nen users come to gruesome ends when they became complacent with their gifts.” That lazy arrogance was the first thing Chrollo looked for in an opponent. There was no easier character flaw to exploit, and he took particular pleasure in cutting them down, so unhurried and deliberate in his violence that they had the chance to understand their mistake. A final gift of clarity. 

“Wow, Theta. Intense today,” the prince drawled. “You’re lucky that I like a woman with a little boldness.” 

Chrollo was sorely tempted to slay him where he stood, but the promise of coming back for the nen beasts in the future was too appealing. The prince’s time would come, and he would understand, as all the others did. Instead Chrollo smiled, so sweet, and said, “My apologies for overstepping, your Highness. You’re showing great promise. I can’t wait for the day that your full ability reveals itself.” He averted his eyes demurely.

Tserriednich chuckled. “A skill fit for a king, I’m sure. You’re dismissed.” He sauntered back toward the bedroom before calling over his shoulder, “Oh, and get me some company for tonight. I’m feeling creative.” 

Chrollo wasn’t sure what that meant and didn’t care, but he disliked the tone. “Certainly.” 

Scarlet eyes stashed safely in his pocket, he went back out to the living area. Minor chaos had erupted following the discovery of two identical copies of the dead mercenary in the entryway and out in the hall. He wove through the crowd of shouting guards to a landline phone that hung on the wall. Luckily, there was a small directory of extensions posted next to it. Sheer guesswork, but if Kurapika wanted to get closer to Tserriednich, he’d be an idiot not to use that Hunter license to get a job on this floor somewhere. And Kurapika wasn’t an idiot. Still, with his youth and relative inexperience, he would probably end up with one of the younger, less important princes. Chrollo dialed the number for the last one on the list, the Fourteenth Prince’s suite, and hoped for the best. 

“Yes?” a timid sounding woman answered.

“I’m calling for a Hunter named Kurapika. I believe he’s posted there?” Chrollo said, still with Theta’s voice. 

“Hold please.” 

Chrollo held for several minutes, leaning against the wall and tapping his fingers against the receiver as the havoc around him grew. More mercenaries showed up, and accusations started to fly among them. 

“Yes?” Kurapika’s voice came on. So serious, so professional. So unlike last night. A rare smile tugged at Chrollo’s lips and was gone. 

“I’m calling from the Fourth Prince’s suite. I have something you want. I will be in cabin number 588C on Deck Five in two hours.” 

He hung up on Kurapika’s demands of “who is this” and slipped out of the suite unnoticed just as the first gunshots went off. 

\--

When Chrollo, back in his own body, answered the door a few hours later, Kurapika was already yelling. “Of course it was you. If this is about the fucking cell phone I swear to god-- do you have any idea the chaos you caused up there? My prince could be in serious danger and you pulled the one card you knew I couldn’t ignore, just to dangle a cell phone in front of my face? You know what, keep it. I don’t want it.” He made a dismissive gesture and started walking back the way he’d come. 

“I do have your phone,” Chrollo said. He pulled it out of his pocket and rubbed his finger along the cracks in the screen. “But that’s not all I have for you.” 

Kurapika halted, then turned back halfway. “What.”

“Come in and see.” Chrollo stepped back from the doorway. 

Kurapika accepted the invitation warily, and his eyes went cloudy as he used  _ gyo _ to check for threats. “Whose cabin is this?”

“Mine.” 

“What about the one from yesterday?”

“Just an empty one I found.” Chrollo’s own cabin was hardly less bare, but at least this one had his toothbrush and a couple changes of clothes. He took a seat on the small, hard bed and leaned back against the metal frame.“But why go to the trouble now? We can trust each other, don’t you think?” 

Kurapika just stared at him, furious.

“No, you’re right,” Chrollo continued. “Why should we? There’s nothing binding us to each other, no consequences for broken trust. I can fix that, though.” 

He pulled the small bundle of loot out of his pocket and placed it on the bed next to him. When he untwisted the top, ten scarlet eyes in individual jars appeared. 

“Give them to me.” Kurapika’s voice shook. His whole body stiffened and there was a dim glow to his dark eyes. Colored contact lenses, mostly likely. 

“So demanding!” Chrollo picked up one of the jars and examined it. “These were not easy to get. I want something in return.” 

“You had no right! I had a plan, I had it under control!” Kurapika shouted. 

“You don’t know what you were up against.” Chrollo’s eyes flashed darkly, remembering the nen beasts. Kurapika would be a head in a jar, if not for him. He should be grateful. Chrollo was surprised by his own anger; he’d let this argument get more personal than it should have been. “I saved you the trouble. You’re lucky you only have to deal with me, now.” 

“What do you want?”

Chrollo leaned back again, pretending to consider. “Your Judgment Chain will do. I’ll give you half the eyes for it. You can earn the other half later.” 

“Absolutely not.”

He let the jar in his hand drop. Kurapika jolted to grab it, but Chrollo was faster, catching it the instant before it shattered on the floor. 

“Fine,” Kurapika said, breathing hard. “I can lend it to you using one of my other abilities.”

“I’m not negotiating on this point. I want it for myself,” Chrollo insisted. It wouldn’t do for Kurapika to change his mind and take the ability back midstream; that would defeat the whole purpose. 

“What do I have to do?” 

“Tell me how the ability works.”

“You know how it works,” Kurapika snapped.

“The conditions for skill-hunting are time-limited. You need to explain the parameters of the ability in order to transfer it,” he explained patiently.

“Fine. It can only be used on Spiders, for one thing, so it won’t even be useful to you.”

Chrollo didn’t believe that for a second. “I suppose we’ll find out. Put the palm of your hand on this.” He held his book out to Kurapika, who reluctantly brushed his hand over the cover. “What else?” 

Kurapika’s voice dropped to a hopeless monotone. “You have to name at least two commands for the subject to follow. If they fail to do so, the nen dagger will pierce their heart and they will die instantly. A heart can only hold one chain at a time, but you can also remove it at any point, if you choose.”

“Perfect. Was that so awful?” He flipped open the book to the new page with his right hand, and Kurapika’s chain materialized on the little finger of his left. He lifted his hand to admire the chain for a moment. There was no denying the aesthetic appeal, although the full set would be better. 

The real pleasure of skill-hunting lay in the exploration of the original owner’s heart, whether they were hiding some exploitable darkness or created inadvertent conditions on the skill through their worldview. Attending to those delicate little details often opened up a whole world of opportunity. Chrollo couldn’t say he’d never wondered about Kurapika’s abilities. The ones he knew about only accounted for two of the five chains, and those alone must have been… expensive. Most Specialist abilities were drenched in the user’s own blood. 

Regardless, the first step was to try it out. Chrollo extended his finger and shot the chain straight into Kurapika’s heart. Kurapika grunted in pain and indignation, but said nothing as he slumped back against the wall, head bowed and shoulders curled in. 

The first thing Chrollo noticed about this attack was its stunning intimacy. He could feel Kurapika’s heart pounding through the tension of the chain on his finger. Knowing what he knew about Kurapika’s motivations, it made sense that his killing blow would feel deeply personal, but Chrollo hadn’t expected to feel so exposed in turn. Kurapika had held his heart at the end of this chain twice now, had felt it beat, bare and human, against his finger. 

It hadn’t occurred to Chrollo when he himself was the target, but the lethality of the attack seemed very much beside the point. Kurapika had never given him a condition that was impossible to fulfill. Its real power was to throw the subject’s personal values into sharp relief, laying them bare for all to see, the way Paku had when she chose the welfare of the group over her own life. (Chrollo always phrased it that way, to himself. That made it easier to forget that it was him specifically that she’d wanted to save.) All Kurapika did was place the target on the knife’s edge of their own choices. Once the conditions were set, the outcome was entirely out of Kurapika’s hands, freeing him from the burden of responsibility. Kurapika, he realized, genuinely abhorred violence. 

Chrollo looked at him, on the other end of the chain, and felt like he’d misread him from the beginning. He wasn’t some rabid angel of vengeance. He wasn’t out to destroy everyone Chrollo cared about, specifically. Maybe even the pursuit of the eyes was secondary to some other, less tangible goal. Some of Chrollo’s residual anger started to dissipate. 

“Well?” Kurapika demanded, arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

Chrollo blinked. He’d nearly forgotten about the rules. He’d decided on them well in advance, the first one being patently obvious. “The first condition is that you will not tell Hisoka about the claims I have on you.”

“Fine,” Kurapika said impatiently. “What else?” 

He sighed. He’d planned to compel Kurapika to obey his every order, but now that he understood the ability better, that felt too heavy handed. What he actually wanted from Kurapika, whose heart was now tied to his hand, was simpler. “Never lie to me again, Kurapika. That’s all I ask.” He shut the book and the chain on his finger disappeared. 

“I can’t lie to you if I never speak to you again.” 

“You’ll have to, if you want the rest of these.” With the most important transaction complete, Chrollo reverted to his usual airy tone. He flipped his book back open to Fun Fun Cloth and wrapped five of the eyes back up in a small package. He tossed them to Kurapika, who caught them carefully and stored them in his inner breast pocket. “Tell me about your arrangement with Hisoka.”

Kurapika glowered as he put the eyes in his pocket. “He found me the day after we embarked. We’ve met twice since then, both times at his request and on his terms. He’s been claiming that he could help me get the scarlet eyes from Tserriednich in exchange for information about the Spiders. I don’t trust him, but my options are limited.”

Chrollo tensed and sat up (and immediately cursed himself for how jumpy he’d gotten). “What have you told him?”

“I gave him the location of the cabin I thought was yours. I also told him that I don’t think the entire Troupe is onboard.”

A bitter laugh erupted from his throat. “You’re right about that. What else?”

“That’s it.”

The battle-ready tension in Chrollo’s shoulders relaxed somewhat; his people weren’t in imminent danger if that was all Kurapika had on them. “You don’t know where he’s staying?”

“No,” Kurapika hesitated, likely weighing what would count as a lie of omission, “but I could find out.”

“Good. Do that.” 

“I’m not going to reveal any more of my abilities to you. I’ll do it later and let you know what I find.”

“Fine by me. Last night,” Chrollo said, “when you came to find me, was it on his orders?”

Kurapika shifted from one foot to the other. “Not directly, no.” 

“‘Not directly,’” Chrollo mused aloud. He laced his fingers over his knee. “So, your  _ indirect  _ reasons for tracking me down and sleeping with me were—”

“I wanted to see what information I could get out of you,” he spat, before Chrollo could speculate any further. 

“Of course. How disappointing for you.” Chrollo’s lips curled slightly, a sour imitation of a smile. It  _ was _ expected, of course. He’d known that Kurapika was just acting, when they had sex, but he’d done it so well that it was easy to pretend it was real. The sex was… good, to say the least. Maybe part of him wanted to believe that Kurapika had genuinely enjoyed it, too. He rose from the edge of the bed and stepped closer to Kurapika. “Was it worthwhile in other respects, or a complete waste of your time?”

Kurapika stared up at him warily for a moment, sizing him up. “...Not a total waste of time,” he murmured, averting his eyes.

“Hm.” Chrollo reached out and grasped the back of Kurapika’s neck, the same way he had the night before. Kurapika shut his eyes and leaned back into the touch automatically.  _ There it was. _ Not entirely an act, after all. 

“I can’t,” he said. “I have to get back to my post.” 

“Your prince will be safe for another hour. Or I could send Nobunaga up there to keep an eye on things, if it would make you feel better. He likes kids; he wouldn’t let harm come to her.” He spoke softly as his grip tightened on Kurapika’s hair. 

“And kill everyone else on the floor? God no. You’ve caused enough mayhem.” The responses of Kurapika’s body were fascinating. The way he continued to mouth off, even as the rest of him fell into pliant submission, was something Chrollo had never seen before, and didn’t expect to like so much. This was far preferable to the teasing flattery of the previous night, when Kurapika was pretending to be a woman. 

He slid Kurapika’s suit jacket off his shoulders and tossed it over the headboard behind him. There was something irresistible about the narrow square of Kurapika’s shoulders, the neat fit of his crisp white dress shirt drawing straight, elegant lines down to his hips and out to his wrists. An arm slipped around Kurapika’s waist, wrapping him closer in a full-body press that made Chrollo’s growing erection obvious. One of the marks he’d left the night before was just barely visible above Kurapika’s collar; Chrollo loosened his tie and worked open the top buttons to see more of it. He brushed his lips over the soft, bruised skin, lightly at first. Kurapika’s scent was becoming familiar already, clean and bright and grounded, and Chrollo let it fill his lungs. He wrapped his fingers in Kurapika’s hair and kissed his neck again, more forcefully this time, teeth coming to meet tender flesh. Kurapika went nearly limp in his arms, only tilting his head to allow Chrollo access.

“It’s easier to pretend that you have no say here, isn’t it?” He flipped Kurapika around and pinned him to the wall face-first, arms pressed up helplessly. “If I’m just taking what I want, you don’t have to think about your participation.”

“No,” Kurapika said, breathless and annoyed. “I know what I want.” 

Chrollo ground his hips into Kurapika’s tight little ass, then leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “I like you better like this.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Kurapika said, as he melted back against Chrollo’s body. 

“That’s why I like it.” He slid his hand over the delicate curve of Kurapika’s ribs and pulled him back from the wall to better access the buttons of his shirt. Undressing Kurapika, piece by piece, was much more gratifying than watching him step out of that tiny dress the night before had been. It was hot, yes, but it had been a performance through and through. But here, now, he could picture Kurapika shrugging off his jacket at the end of a long, tiring day. Pulling off his tie, undoing his top button in the quiet privacy of his own quarters. Chrollo wondered how many others had been permitted the sight of those intimate half-stages. 

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when Kurapika had become something more than just “the chain user.” Last night? Or the first time they’d met, when Kurapika jumped him in the pitch black hotel lobby? Or maybe it had happened at some point during their extended separation, when Kurapika still crept into his thoughts a little more frequently than was warranted. Still, he’d been taken aback by the  _ relief _ he’d felt when he saw Kurapika enter the Deck Five cafeteria in a silly little costume. It wasn’t just curiosity, or a distraction from another night of obsessive grief, as much as he wanted it to be. Kurapika was a beacon in the storm. 

“I suppose now you can’t lie to me about what you like,” he teased. “Isn’t this nice? Being honest with each other?” 

Kurapika grunted. 

“That was an invitation, by the way, to tell me what you actually want,” Chrollo said. 

“I don’t…” he started, then reddened furiously. 

Chrollo turned Kurapika gently to face him, then stroked his cheek with his thumb. The tenderness was new and experimental, but the way it made Kurapika shiver was well worth it. 

“I can’t breathe a word of any of this. Remember?” He felt strangely glad that this was their situation, that Kurapika had attacked him so impulsively last night to protect his own pride. Being an airtight receptacle for Kurapika’s secrets had its advantages. 

Kurapika closed his eyes and forced it out. “I don’t like being penetrated like that, okay? Last night was an exception, but I don’t want to do it again. If that’s a problem for you, I’ll just go now.” 

“That’s all?” Chrollo laughed. “No, darling, that’s not a problem.” The term of endearment slipped out easily. 

Kurapika looked as if Chrollo had slapped him. An exquisite mixture of anger and imploration played across his face. “Don’t call me that.” 

Chrollo accepted the plea silently and steered Kurapika over to the bed, dropping his own jacket over the back of a chair as they went. Seeing Kurapika laid out half-naked under him, he wondered if Kurapika’s poor condition was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. His dress was always neat, hair clean and combed, his demeanor controlled. Maybe that was enough to convince most people that he wasn’t falling apart at the seams. Maybe the little vitamin-deficient crescents on his fingernails were easy to ignore. Maybe no one else ran their thumbs over the sharp points of his hips the way Chrollo did as he slid Kurapika’s pants off. Maybe his irritability could be written off as acute stress, rather than chronic sleep deprivation. Those people had never spent time in Meteor City.

The truth was, regardless of when things had changed, he could easily imagine Kurapika, born in a slightly different time and place, as one of the friends he would keep closest. That was the point of the Spider, to protect one another, though his teenage self had idiotically insisted that it wasn’t. Experience had made him more honest, over the years. Which is why it had been so frustrating, on the one occasion he’d tried to talk to Nobunaga, to have his own rules quoted back at him. 

“It’s not your job to protect us,” Nobu had said. “I miss them too, but they knew the risk they were taking when they lent you their abilities.”

Chrollo hadn’t brought it up again.

It was probably for the best that Kurapika hated him. Being a friend to Chrollo was a dangerous thing. He traced his fingers over Kurapika’s bare collarbone and watched him shiver in response. 

“Sorry,” he murmured finally.

Something strange flitted across Kurapika’s face and disappeared. He said nothing in response, just went to work on Chrollo’s belt before shoving his pants down and pulling his hips closer to grind against him. 

“Do you have… anything?” Kurapika asked.

“Lubricant? No, I don’t.”

Kurapika took his hands off Chrollo’s hips and pushed him back. “What do you mean ‘no’?” 

“I mean I didn’t think to bring any when I boarded this ship,” Chrollo clarified irritably. The possibility of sex had been the furthest thing from his mind that day, not 24 hours after he’d found Shalnark and Kortopi’s bodies staged in a grotesque message for him. He pushed the images aside. “Unlike you, I didn’t plan on this.” 

“Well, you’re not fucking me dry. So I don’t know where that leaves us.” He started to sit up on the bed, but Chrollo pushed him back down forcefully and held him there, one forearm clamped down across his shoulders. He was not going to let Kurapika walk the whole thing back on a technicality. He reached down and circled two fingers against his clit, under his boxers. Kurapika let out a gasping moan, indignant and hungry.

“Not very imaginative, are you? I’m surprised,” Chrollo said, pressing down harder. His face was mere inches from Kurapika’s. “Or is laying on your back and getting fucked the only thing you know how to do?”

“Fuck off,” he said, voice uneven. He twisted under Chrollo’s arm, not really trying to free himself but testing the strength it would take, which was a significant amount. 

“Last night you asked me for something specific. Why don’t you remind me what it was? My memory’s a little foggy,” he mocked. 

“I asked you for oral,” Kurapika grit out. 

“Ah, of course. I think you phrased it differently, but close enough. I remember you said ‘please,’ which I thought was a little strange, coming from someone who—”

“Do you  _ ever _ shut up?” His cheeks were getting red, Chrollo noted with satisfaction. 

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Which was an honest answer, because he was not known for talking much otherwise. Just another weird effect Kurapika seemed to have on him. He let up on Kurapika’s shoulders and sat back on his heels, then stripped off Kurapika’s underwear. His thumbs stroked the sharp points of Kurapika’s hips, then Chrollo knelt down at the edge of the bed and set his tongue to work. He started with the join of his legs to his hips, making his way down the delicate seam of skin there with presses of his lips. From there he traced his way down to Kurapika’s thighs, adding small bites to keep his attention. 

When Chrollo was satisfied that he was warmed up enough, he slid his tongue up and down each side of his clit, slowly, gently, as if they were still pretending to be perfectly normal strangers. Kurapika exhaled at the contact and reached down to grip Chrollo’s hair. Chrollo had been angling for this from the start, hoping it hadn’t been part of the act. Kurapika’s reactions were delicious, and soon he found himself rutting leisurely against the edge of the bed, letting the low-burning pleasure build in his core. And simply, it felt like a nice change to do something well, after his long string of personal failures. Even if it was just this. 

On the rare occasions he allowed himself to imagine something like this happening with Kurapika, he’d always pictured it rougher, all nails and teeth and snarls, maybe even tears of shame. But the mutual roleplay of their first time had rung some bells that couldn’t be unrung, as much as Kurapika made halfhearted attempts to undo the familiarity between them.

“Fuck,” he heard Kurapika murmur. Chrollo could feel his pleasure building, the thighs around his shoulders tensing and relaxing again. As Kurapika’s breaths grew irregular and his hips twitched, Chrollo backed off, moving to kiss and lick his inner thighs. Kurapika hummed impatiently, and Chrollo reprimanded him with another bite to the soft flesh of his leg.

"Patience." He smoothed his hands up to Kurapika's waist, curious if he could fit both hands around it. Not quite, but pretty close.

Kurapika wrapped his fingers tighter in Chrollo’s hair and dragged him closer, grinding his hips against his mouth and nose. Chrollo arched his back and rubbed himself harder against the mattress. The breaths that he could get came out as moans: small, muffled, cut-up things that he wouldn't have Kurapika hearing, if it were up to him. He slid his nose between the slick folds and rubbed it up against the shaft of Kurapika’s clit, letting his tongue follow behind. Kurapika moved one hand to his shoulder and gripped it tightly.

“Like that,” he whispered. “Keep going.”

Chrollo obliged willingly, and before another minute passed Kurapika was bucking against him, nails dug deep in his shoulder, gasping for breath as if he’d been held underwater. A final “ah” pried itself from his throat and he collapsed back on the pillow. 

“So dramatic.” A smile quirked Chrollo’s lips. 

Kurapika pushed him away with a foot, still breathing hard. Chrollo sat up and nudged him back.

“Get up. Hands and knees,” he said, with the casual certainty of someone who is accustomed to having his orders followed. 

But Kurapika had sworn only honesty, not loyalty or obedience. “I told you, I’m not letting you—”

“Easy.” Chrollo brushed a lock of blond hair away from Kurapika's face. It wasn’t the first time Chrollo had noticed the way his hair just brushed against his jawline, framing his face and exposing the skin of his neck. “I heard you before.”

Kurapika studied him suspiciously, as if Chrollo had gone off-script somehow and he’d lost the thread of his own part. But he must have decided to believe Chrollo, because he positioned himself on the bed as asked, with his ass in the air and his elbows supporting him. It was a hell of a sight. 

Chrollo lowered his pants enough to free his cock, then slid it between Kurapika’s silky thighs, slowly at first. He was still wet enough to ease the way. With the right angle, he was able to slide up and stimulate Kurapika’s clit again. Chrollo hid his own exhale of pleasure under Kurapika’s easy hum. 

Even if Kurapika hadn't sworn him to it, he'd never have said a word about whatever was transpiring between them. This belonged to him, and him alone. There was something undeniably possessive about the Judgment Chain, and Chrollo liked to take care of his possessions, always had. Something froze in his chest briefly at the thought, the same flash of cold terror he’d felt when he first noticed that Kortopi’s Gallery Fake and Shal’s Black Voice had inexplicably disappeared from the pages of Bandit’s Secret. 

He shook it off and tried to focus on what was in front of him. The nape of Kurapika's neck, the graceful curve of his spine and the strong slope of his shoulders, was the most erotic thing Chrollo had ever laid eyes on. Touching him there felt like laying his bare hands on a painting in a gallery, transgressive bordering on sacreligious. He did it anyway, because he did what he wanted, god damn it. 

Why should he feel guilty? Kurapika wasn’t mortally fragile, even if he looked that way. Chrollo hadn’t signed his death warrant by taking one of his chains. This was nothing like what he’d done to Shal and Kortopi; it wasn’t even comparable. He laid his hand flat on Kurapika’s shoulder and pinned him roughly to the mattress as he fucked his thighs, hitting his clit with each stroke. Kurapika moaned, pressed out like a stretching cat, all smooth lines and soft angles. If gentleness confused him, roughness put him in a near-trance. Better for him to stay in that trance, while Chrollo sorted out whatever was wrong with himself. 

He should have never lured Kurapika back here. The first time should have been the last. It could have stayed in his memory as a pleasant encounter with a lovely half-stranger. Would it have been so terrible to just leave it at that? He could have found another way around the Hisoka problem, if he’d stopped to think about it before jumping on the first thing that would give him closer access to Kurapika. He dragged his nails down the perfect skin of Kurapika’s back, marring it, to prove to himself that he could. 

Kurapika cried out as he came and Chrollo fucked him through it until he collapsed down into the mattress, hair mussed and chapped lips bitten scarlet.

"Give me a second," he breathed.

Chrollo tucked his quickly-softening cock back into his pants and sat back against the wall. There was no way he could clear his mind enough to finish. The quicker Kurapika could get far away from him, the better off they’d both be. Kurapika turned to look at him and fell back on one hip. "You don't want to keep going?"

"Not important." He couldn't bring himself to meet Kurapika's eye. "You should go."

Kurapika huffed, as if Chrollo was just being difficult. “Yes, I should.” He stood up and started gathering his clothes, putting himself back together with practiced motions. 

Chrollo took Kurapika’s burner phone off the nightstand and programmed his own number into it. “Text me when you have Hisoka’s location, then delete the message and my number. Stay as far away from him as you can without raising suspicion.”

Kurapika snatched the phone out of his hand and stuck it in his pocket. “I can manage, thank you.” One side of his jacket collar was flipped up. Chrollo was tempted to reach over and fix it, but instead he just nodded at it. Kurapika glanced down and corrected it, then patted his breast pocket to make sure the small bundle of eyes was still there. 

He headed for the door, turning back only briefly to say, “I’ll be in touch.” It was the emotionless voice of a professional Hunter, same as he’d heard on the phone earlier. 

The door clanged shut behind him, and Chrollo punched the metal wall so hard it dented. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, those of you who waited! The last chapter should NOT take 6 weeks to get done.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Though cut in half shall be your number, 'tis not lost, wherein your advantage lies."

Kurapika spent the next several days working nearly nonstop, grabbing a bite to eat or a twenty minute nap as and when he could. As for locating Hisoka, he fully intended on keeping his word, and his intention was all the chain around his heart cared about. But he also wasn’t going to prioritize Chrollo’s little vanity errand over his other responsibilities. If Chrollo got impatient about it, well, he could just learn to wait or go out looking himself. Still, Kurapika was a bit surprised he hadn’t heard anything further from Chrollo, especially given the abrupt and confusing end to their last meeting. 

It was good that he was busy. Picking over the encounter, the way Chrollo seemed not to know how to act with him, tender one moment and brutal the next, was a waste of time. Why his body responded to Chrollo’s touch the way it did was a mystery that didn’t need solving. What bothered him more was the way he’d simply laid down and allowed Chrollo to best him. He couldn’t even look at his right hand without feeling naked, his bare little finger a blazing neon advertisement of his humiliation. 

Helping Queen Oito develop her nen abilities was a much better use of his precious hours, and he practiced with her every chance he could get. They’d been at it for a couple hours in the living area this evening, focusing mostly on defensive and perceptive techniques, and she was making steady progress. He held up his two index fingers, balancing an orb of aura on his left.

“Left or right?”

She squinted hard at one finger, then the other. “Left.”

“Good. I’d like you to get to a point where you don’t have to strain so hard to perceive aura. If we just keep practicing, another few hundred reps or so, it should get much easier for you.”

Oito sank down into one of the plush armchairs and rested her head in her hand. “Kurapika, I’m sorry, but this is ridiculous.”

He tensed. “Your Highness?”

“You haven’t slept in days, you’re barely eating… and I can’t pretend I don’t notice _that."_ She pointed to his right hand, with its missing chain. Shame burned in his chest, and he stuck his hand in his pocket. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for us, and I’ve tried to be fair in what I ask of you. But please, understand my position: I have an employee who insists on pushing himself to the point of impairment. That endangers my child, and I cannot have that.” 

“I’m not—”

“I’d love it if you trusted me enough to tell me what happened, but I’m not going to pry. Whatever it was, I need you to take the time to get your head on straight. Take a day to rest and get your strength back.” 

“Nothing happened. I’m fine to continue,” Kurapika said. It didn’t sound convincing, even to him. 

Oito sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry to be harsh. But I have to insist that you take some time off. A day or two, whatever you need. We will be fine in your absence.” She stood to dismiss him, her manner suddenly formal, and Kurapika had no grounds to protest.

“Understood, your Highness. I won’t be far, please call me if you need me,” he said. He kept his tone neutral, but his heart was sinking. 

A little warmth returned to her face. “I will.” 

Kurapika headed out the front door of the suite into the hallway and pulled out his phone. He was exhausted, but the thought of spending hours alone with his own thoughts and eventual nightmares was unbearable. His traitorous body didn’t deserve a reprieve. What he really wanted was to be unconscious, undreaming and unfeeling and unremembering. The second best thing was Leorio. He hit send on his text and sank down the wall to the plush white floor, knees pulled to his chest. His tired eyes ached. 

Leorio’s response came only a minute later: _Holy shit I thought I’d never hear from you! I’m about to finish my shift, can you come down to the deck three clinic? This is great, I’ve got a six-pack I’ve been saving for a special occasion._

Kurapika managed a weak smile. _Be right down,_ he wrote back. He wouldn’t drink himself, not while he was on call, but watching Leorio get drunk sounded almost fun. 

He hauled himself back to his feet and headed down the long hallway. He could easily take the VIP elevator down, but he preferred to walk. Even when it was completely still and silent, the First Deck never felt peaceful. A constant thrum of violence lay just under the immaculate exterior and well-ordered gentility, ready to erupt at any moment. At least Chrollo’s violence was honest. When he’d come up and stolen the scarlet eyes from Tserriednich, the ensuing chaos was the most straightforward thing Kurapika had seen yet on the ship. It was almost a relief to have the true nature of the contest out in the open. Which is not to say that he was pleased about anything Chrollo did.

He passed through the checkpoint to the Second Deck with no issue and started down one of the less-traveled residential hallways toward the Third. When he turned a corner to head further aft, he barely recognized the strange figure down at the far end of the hall. He was wearing Chrollo’s same stupid jacket with the white ruff, but this man looked nothing like Chrollo, from a distance. Whoever he was, he looked unraveled, and his fiery, volatile aura felt nothing like the icy depths that Kurapika had started to grow used to. His whole posture was rigid, his movements erratic, as if he were keeping himself upright by sheer force of will. 

In his right hand he held open a small black book. It had to be Chrollo. He paused in front of a cabin door, then abruptly disappeared for about three seconds, before appearing again just as suddenly. His head turned and his gaze locked on Kurapika for a moment, then he started walking quickly in the other direction. 

Kurapika ran to close the gap between them, and as he got closer he grabbed Chrollo’s shoulder and turned him around. He was covered in blood all down his front, the ruff of his coat matted with it, and Kurapika couldn’t tell if it belonged to him or someone else.

“What did you do?” Kurapika demanded. 

“I did nothing,” Chrollo said, enunciating each word with a low-burning fury. His eyes were wild and red-rimmed, almost as if he’d been crying. “Stay away from me.”

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing up here.”

Chrollo shut his eyes and didn’t answer right away. When he spoke, his voice was tightly controlled. “You said you would text me. How did you manage to lie to me again?” 

“I said I would do it later. That wasn’t a lie.”

Chrollo just stared at him, a storm brewing in his expression.

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to use _my_ ability correctly.”

“Then help me or get out of my way, Kurapika!” 

Kurapika had never heard Chrollo raise his voice, and there was a new desperation in his tone that was alarming. Chrollo brushed past him and headed for the next door in the hall, but Kurapika caught him by the shoulder again and pulled him back. Without meaning to, his other hand came up to catch Chrollo’s wrist. He was trembling. Kurapika dropped his wrist like a hot coal and took a step back, startled. 

“Whose blood is that?” he asked. 

“You didn’t know them.” Chrollo turned to walk away again. 

Dead spiders, then. Kurapika was surprised to find that this news brought him no satisfaction at all. “Hisoka.” 

Chrollo stopped and inclined his head. “He left cards sticking out of their bodies... dozens of them, all fours. He used to be number four in the group, and now he’s killed four of us. So congratulations, your burden has been lightened.” The joke rang hollow and poisonous. 

_Christ._ Hisoka had implied that he had plans, but he’d never told Kurapika that he’d actually killed any of the Troupe. Kurapika hadn’t asked any further questions about it; maybe he hadn’t actually wanted to know. In any case, he’d never imagined that Hisoka was mowing the Troupe down so rapidly, and now he wasn’t sure how to feel. 

Kurapika sighed. He couldn’t let Chrollo hang around this high up in the ship, especially when he was this out of control. He had to contain him somehow, but he couldn’t afford to spend hours down on the Fifth Deck where Oito and Bill couldn’t find him in an emergency. There was only one possible solution that Kurapika could see. And he hated it. 

“Come with me.” He pulled on Chrollo’s wrist, to no avail. 

“What?” Chrollo said in disbelief. “No, he’s still close by, I need to find him now! You told me you had a way to locate him. Please.” 

“Listen. Listen to me. I will help you,” Kurapika hissed. He fingered the chain that hung from his middle finger. Chain Jail was a last resort, but he’d use it if he had to. “But going after Hisoka when you’re this upset is suicide. Come with me, calm down, and we will make a plan.” 

“Kurapika, I can’t— I can’t lose anyone else.” His voice cracked.

Kurapika’s eyes flashed red underneath his contact lenses, and he was filled with a rage that burned him from the inside out. How _dare_ Chrollo mourn? How dare he fall apart now, after all that he’d done? How dare those big gray eyes swim with tears? Any restraint Kurapika had had was gone, the fragile tolerance of the past few days shattered. He swung his middle finger chain and launched himself at Chrollo. He went down hard, chains clanking as he hit the floor, and Kurapika landed on top of him. 

“You know nothing of loss,” he snarled, both hands fisted in Chrollo’s collar. “What gives you the right to even ask for my help?” 

“Nothing! So walk away and let me handle it the way I handle it! But if you slow me down one second longer I swear to god,” Chrollo said, just as fierce, straining against the confines of the chain. 

“Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.” Kurapika got to his feet and tugged at the chain. “Will you walk, or do I have to drag you?” 

Chrollo struggled a few seconds more, then deflated visibly and turned his face toward the floor for a moment. He rolled onto his side and got up awkwardly, with only his lower legs at liberty. Kurapika offered no assistance. 

There was a high-security emergency elevator nearby that would take them up to the First Deck without too much fanfare, so Kurapika headed that way, leading Chrollo silently behind him. Like it or not, Kurapika’s quarters in the prince’s suite would be the most secure place to contain him, at least for an hour or two. Getting him in without attracting attention would be a challenge, though.

They reached the elevator and Kurapika scanned his credentials to summon it. 

“So you’ve obviously been up to the First Deck before.” 

Chrollo said nothing. The elevator arrived with a ding, and the door opened. They stepped inside and Kurapika entered his security code, followed by the floor number. His captive leaned heavily against the back wall and closed his eyes. 

“Did you use a disguise? Or did you transport yourself like I saw you doing in the hall? You have to have some ability to make this easier.” 

“I don’t have any abilities,” Chrollo said flatly. 

Kurapika huffed. _"If_ I remove Chain Jail, can I trust you to do exactly as I say?”

“I can’t answer that. Whether you trust me or not is your business.”

The elevator slid smoothly upward in the ship, through the twenty levels of Deck Two. Kurapika looked closely at Chrollo. He was right that any promise of obedience would mean little. The rabid hostility that was emanating from him earlier had already dampened slightly. Instead, Chrollo seemed reduced, as if some vital part of him had been torn away. But that wasn’t enough to inspire confidence. 

“They asked for my help. I told them I’d keep them safe. Fair warning, there are consequences to trusting me,” he said quietly. His voice held the slightest waver.

 _Dammit,_ Kurapika said inwardly. He could not possibly feel compassion for Chrollo Lucilfer. But when Kurapika looked at him now, what he saw was uncomfortably familiar. He recognized that howling chasm of grief and guilt, from the first days after the massacre. Kurapika had sobbed until his head hurt, screamed until his throat was raw. He'd broken all the bones in his hand. It had taken three days and two nights until exhaustion and thirst drove him from his spot at the edge of the village. Chrollo was more composed, but he was obviously suffering. The tight line of his mouth, the curl of his shoulders, the way he kept shutting his eyes against some recent memory. The bloodstains all down his arms, as if he'd held or carried the bodies. It was more than Kurapika ever wanted to know about his enemy.

And it wasn't the same thing as what Chrollo had done to him, not nearly. But Chrollo was in the process of losing everyone close to him, whether Kurapika wanted to look at it that way or not. Hisoka would not stop at four. The empathy felt invasive. _Perverse._ But it was there, and he couldn't shake it. 

Kurapika stepped closer to Chrollo and started unwinding the chains around him. He could easily unconjure them, but preserving the illusion of their reality still felt prudent. Chrollo watched him, mild surprise playing over his face as Kurapika passed the bundle of chains from one hand to the other around his body. 

“I hope you know how much I’m sticking my neck out for you,” Kurapika muttered.

“I can’t recommend that.”

“Shut your mouth.” 

The elevator dinged just as the last loop of chains fell to the floor at Chrollo's feet. He looked at Kurapika, something resembling affection coloring the sadness, and placed a newly-free hand on his shoulder. "Tell me where we're going and I'll get us there."

Kurapika didn't acknowledge the gesture, but he didn't reject it either. "Service quarters, at the back of the Fourteenth Prince's suite."

"Is it within fifty meters of the elevator?"

Kurapika thought about it. "I think so, yes."

"Can you picture it clearly?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes and hold that image in your head for me." The elevator doors opened as Chrollo flipped through his book. He landed on the correct page and held it open with his thumb, then slid his hand over Kurapika's shoulders and drew him closer. There was a sickening jolt, and when Kurapika opened his eyes, they were in his cabin. Chrollo withdrew his arm and stuck his hands back in his pockets.

The opulence of the rest of the deck did not extend to the service quarters, which suited Kurapika fine. A small bed he rarely used, a luggage rack, and a nightstand with a single drawer. It was less damp and drippy than the Deck Five berths, but other than that, fairly similar. Kurapika leaned back against the door, in case Chrollo got any ideas about leaving. Chrollo hovered near the bed, as if unsure what to do with himself. Kurapika wished he would just sit, but didn’t want to invite him.

"So, your..." he struggled to pick the right word, "friends. What were their names?"

"Why am I here, Kurapika," Chrollo said instead. 

A reasonable question, and one that Kurapika had been hoping he wouldn't have to answer. To be honest, he had no idea what to do with Chrollo now that he was here.

"I want to keep an eye on you, so you don't go out and kill innocent people." Kurapika dearly wished he could lie. "Or get yourself killed."

Chrollo nodded distantly. Maybe the admission that Kurapika wanted to keep him alive hadn't even reached him, wherever his mind was. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped through it, then stared down at it for a full minute. He passed the phone to Kurapika. 

It was a text from someone named Shizuku, from just a few hours earlier: _Hey boss, we did a little recon this afternoon. We heard a rumor about a tall scary dude hanging around deck two. We’re going to look into it, but don’t worry, you still get the kill_ ♥🕷♥

"Today it was Shizuku and Bonolenov. Shalnark and Kortopi week before last. Then Paku and Uvo, of course, last year," he recited the litany of names listlessly. 

"Shit," Kurapika said, under his breath. Pakunoda's death was news to him. No wonder he couldn't find her on the ship. He wondered how long she'd lasted under the conditions he'd placed on her. The uncomfortable implications of the whole hostage negotiation at the airport started to come back to him. Chrollo may have genuinely believed that he had no value as a hostage, but Pakunoda and the others had taken every possible chance to keep him alive. He wondered if Chrollo could recognize that now, in hindsight. What was it about him that inspired that kind of loyalty and affection?

What was it about him that kept Kurapika from ending him right now? Or at the very least, leaving him to his fate with Hisoka? He didn't want to think about it.

Kurapika stepped over to the tightly-made bed and ripped the covers back. "Get in the bed and stay there, I'll be right back."

He stepped out of the room and locked the door behind him. The bathroom was right across the narrow service hallway; he'd be able to hear if Chrollo tried anything. His contact lenses weren't meant to be worn for so long at a stretch, and his sore eyes were begging for relief. He removed them one by one, put eyedrops in, then washed his face. The shock of the cold water on his skin calmed him.

His eyes landed on the stack of paper cups by the sink, and he took one and filled it.

When Kurapika unlocked the door to his room, Chrollo was curled loosely on top of the covers. At the sound of the door opening, he straightened his long limbs and wiped his eyes. 

Kurapika looked away and dropped his keys on the nightstand with a loud clatter. "I don't care if you cry, but take your fucking jacket off, jesus. You're getting blood everywhere."

Chrollo sat up and shrugged off the bloody coat, then tossed it on the floor. Under it was a soft-looking black shirt with a high, loose neck. He pulled one of the sleeves over his hand and pressed it into both eyes once more, sniffling. Seeing him so crushed was not nearly as satisfying as it should have been. Even Kurapika’s righteous anger from earlier was dulled. He handed Chrollo the cup of water.

"Drink this."

He lifted it to his nose and smelled it. "What is it?"

Kurapika frowned. "It's water."

"Why are you giving me water?"

"Because you'll feel even worse than you do right now if you let yourself get dehydrated. Just drink it," Kurapika said irritably.

Chrollo downed it obediently, then crumpled the cup and tossed it in the wastebasket. 

Kurapika toed off his shoes without untying them, then pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. It was still his off-shift, he might as well get comfortable. He ignored the way Chrollo watched him from the bed. 

“Move over.” There was nowhere else in the room to sit, and he did not plan to stand for hours while his guest finished his breakdown.

Chrollo inched over and down until he was pressed flat against the wall on his side, and Kurapika squeezed in next to him, sitting up against the headboard. His personal cell buzzed in his pocket, and he shifted to pull it out. It was a text from Leorio, asking where he was. He angled the screen away from Chrollo to respond: _Something came up. Another time?_

“Relax,” he said, before Chrollo could ask. “It’s not Hisoka. Just cancelling my plans for tonight.”

Chrollo paused, looking at him curiously, then nodded. “You look nice,” he murmured. 

“What?”

“You look nice without the contacts.” 

Kurapika scoffed. They lay in silence for a while. 

This was what he’d wanted, of course. He’d wanted, _needed_ Chrollo to have everything taken from him, to understand the pain he’d caused others. And even that was backing off from his original goal of killing them all himself. The experience with Uvogin was too sickening to repeat. And at the time, Chrollo had appeared unaffected by his death, perfectly composed the entire time Kurapika was with him. He’d reappeared from his banishment with seeming good grace. Nothing Kurapika had done seemed to faze him. Kurapika had supposed nothing could. 

At some point Chrollo’s head had come to rest against Kurapika’s shoulder. He had been still enough for long enough that Kurapika would have guessed he’d fallen asleep, if not for his shallow, uneven breaths. He craned his neck forward to check. Chrollo’s eyes were wide open, staring off into the middle distance, his lips slightly parted. He looked utterly lost. 

“Stop that.” He snapped his fingers at Chrollo, who picked his head up.

“Stop what?”

“Thinking about whatever you’re thinking about. It won’t help.”

Chrollo sighed. “You’re right. But I’ve never been any good at letting go of my failings.” 

The admission, offered so freely, startled Kurapika. “Failings?”

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” His voice hitched over a word, unsteady. “I don’t see any way around it.” 

“Yes,” Kurapika said, because he could not lie. Because what other name could it go by, when a beloved friend is slain in your absence after you promised to protect them? Why else would Pairo still appear in his own dreams on a near-weekly basis?

It was true. But he didn’t relish saying it. Chrollo shuddered at his side and pressed his face into Kurapika’s shoulder. Kurapika should really have pushed him away, but he didn’t. 

“I know.” If there was tenderness in his tone, it wasn’t intentional. “Just try to sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s likely,” Chrollo said, muffled. The effort he was putting into staying calm was obvious. 

“We can talk about something else, if you want. To distract you.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Kurapika said lamely. It was a dumb idea anyway. What the hell could he and Chrollo possibly have to talk about? They fell back into silence. The white noise of the heating vents shut off, deepening the quiet in the room until all he could hear was the distant howl of the wind outside and Chrollo’s strictly regulated breaths. 

“Tell me about your home?”

The question jarred Kurapika from his momentary lapse in hostility, and he froze as his eyes shifted red. 

“You have some fucking nerve asking me that,” he said, low and dangerous. He jerked Chrollo’s head off his shoulder. 

“Never mind then.” Chrollo folded his arm up as a pillow.

The reminder of their history, as if he ever needed one, made it too uncomfortable to see Chrollo’s legs sprawled out alongside his own. He’d let himself slip too far this time; what was he even thinking, bringing him here? He should seize this opportunity before it slipped away. He had a switchblade tucked into his sock, he could gut Chrollo like a fish. But the thought of killing him now, vulnerable as he was, felt very distant. Almost alien. He felt certain that Chrollo wouldn’t harm him either, not directly and not right now, at least. There was no violence or hostility left in his aura, just sadness thick enough to choke on. 

Kurapika got up and flicked off the lights instead, leaving the room pitch black except for a thin strip of light coming under the door from the hallway. At least now he wouldn’t have to watch his own morals compromising in real-time. He lay back on the narrow strip of bed, partially reclined, and worked on breathing his eyes back to gray. Chrollo reached an arm across his waist and tugged him closer. His own arm was pinned too tight between their bodies, so he pulled it out and threaded it under Chrollo’s neck and head before resting it on his back. His fingers curled around the curve of his ribs, and that alone felt more damning than the sex. 

He’d never gone back to Lukso, after parching thirst and insomnia and his injured hand had pried him away from his three-day vigil, but he had it in the back of his mind that he would, someday. Once he had collected all of his brethren’s eyes and paid down his debt of guilt, he could bury them there. 

In a way, he almost appreciated the stunning shamelessness of Chrollo’s question. Maybe it was even preferable to the tiptoeing that others did, too afraid to ask him anything for fear of setting him off. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he’d talked about Lukso at all, since it had happened. He talked about the eyes, of course, and the massacre in general terms. But no one ever asked what it was like before all of that. 

He hesitated a moment longer, the words coming slowly. “It was very green. Temperate, with a rainy winter followed by a long, muddy spring.”

“Mm. What else?” 

He swallowed. “We lived down in the valley for most of the year, except for a few weeks in early spring when the mud made it impassable. Then we’d move up the mountain and make camp up there for a while, until the fields drained enough to plant and the roads firmed back up. I used to love it because my favorite birds lived up there, at the higher altitudes. They weren’t the prettiest, just fat little brownish birds, but they were so smart. They learned to imitate our music... they’d sing along with it. There was always music.” To his shock, Kurapika’s eyes grew heavy with unshed tears. He hadn’t cried in so long that he assumed he’d forgotten how. He was grateful for the dark as he blinked them away. But it felt good to speak these long-buried memories out loud into the still darkness, where he could pretend that it was some other warm body draped across him, listening quietly. 

“The visibility wasn’t great at that time of year, that high up in the mountains. It was kind of like living in the clouds. But every so often we’d get a clear day. And I loved how far into the distance I could see on those days. I couldn't believe how vast the world was… I wanted to see all of it. So stupid of me,” he whispered and shook his head. 

“It sounds lovely. I never had a home like that.” It didn’t sound like a reproach, simply an observation. The softness of Chrollo’s voice fit better here than it did outside, where his carelessly gentle tone was an insult, an extra assault on Kurapika’s always-threadbare patience. 

“Few people do. I was lucky,” he said, sidestepping any acknowledgment of the implications about Chrollo’s past, whatever it was. He didn’t want to know. He already knew too much.

It occured to Kurapika that he was seeing more of the world than he’d ever planned on. The pursuit of the scarlet eyes had him plunging headlong and blind onto this ship, bound for the Dark Continent before he even knew what was happening. And look where he’d ended up: sailing off the edge of the known world, caged in a dome with monsters, with the absolute worst of them lying in the crook of his arm. The trajectory of his life was completely out of his control, and the breakneck horrors of the succession contest had kept him too busy to realize the truth. 

He was never going back. 

If he died on the ship, or best case scenario, the Dark Continent itself, even the eyes he had with him now would never be buried in Lukso. The ship could sink and they’d be lost in the water, ripped from his lifeless fingers by the current. Or they’d last long enough to be devoured by some wild beast on the continent, or maybe picked up by some doomed collector first. In time, the whole Kurta clan would be forgotten, eyes and all. Their songs and paintings, their textiles, their food, the language that still sat deep in the back of Kurapika’s tongue. He never spoke it aloud, but it occasionally came to him as a faint echo of his thoughts, some more elegant phrasing known only to him.

“I should have just stayed at home, where I belong,” he whispered, mostly to himself. 

“You’d be dead.”

“Yes.” 

He felt Chrollo’s hair brush against his neck as he shifted to try to look up at him. 

“Do you think you’re the only one who lives alongside death?” Kurapika asked sharply. 

“No,” Chrollo said, and it was a concession. 

The more correct word, in the Kurtan language, would have been _alorpikt,_ meaning something closer to “separation from brother” (containing the same root as his own given name, _Curarpikt,_ meaning “love of brother”). Death was one possible meaning, but it encompassed much more than that. _Alorpikt_ stemmed from an old apocalyptic myth the Kurtans told, where a hero returned from a faraway battle to find his home barren and empty, then wandered for eternity searching for any sign of life. To the Kurtans, death was nothing more than a profound disconnect. Why would Kurapika fear that? It would only be more of the same. At times he’d wondered if he was already dead, like the hero in the myth eventually discovered. 

In spite of that, he’d accomplished nearly everything he’d set out to. He’d followed his revenge to the very end, like he’d promised. But now, at the end of it all, from so far away, the world looked different. All kinds of previously unthinkable things now seemed plausible. 

Kurapika looked down at Chrollo, whose breathing had steadied somewhat. Felt the easy rise and fall of his ribcage under his hand. Somehow, none of this felt like chance, almost as if the warp and weft of their two lives conspired together to cross their paths at critical moments. Maybe the way they’d been circling each other was simply a matter of circling the same drain. The fact that they only seemed to grow closer to each other in their orbit would mean that they’re nearing the end. 

Kurapika couldn’t bring himself to feel much of anything about that. 

And even in his endless wandering, there had still been fleeting moments of connection. Like when he held Woble, or when he got a text from Leorio (even if he didn’t respond to it). And even now, he didn’t feel entirely _alorpikt,_ though the end of the world had to be near at hand. Chrollo was asleep now, and had inched closer to Kurapika, who was nearly off the bed. It would be better for him to stay here for the night so that Kurapika could keep an eye on him. The first night after a loss was the hardest, and sleep wouldn’t help it. Nothing would. But not sleeping was far worse, as Kurapika could attest. 

The fatigue he’d been ignoring was finally catching up to him, and his head drifted to one side until he started awake again. The only way for him to fit on the bed at all was to lie on his side and fit his body against Chrollo’s, so that’s what he did. He nudged him back against the wall to buy himself a little more space, and pressed his back against Chrollo’s chest, his legs bent over his. He felt Chrollo’s nose and forehead rest against the back of his neck, his warm slow breaths coming lightly over his skin. 

Kurapika slept better than he had any right to. When he woke up, he was alone again in the windowless dark. Chrollo must have gotten up carefully to avoid waking him. He reached out blindly for his phone on the nightstand to check the time, and his hand bumped against something smooth and cool like glass. He groped for the object, and it felt cylinder-shaped. Kurapika’s heart jumped into his throat, and he lurched forward to hit the light switch. Sitting on the table were the remaining five scarlet eyes. 

That was the last of them. No matter what happened now, he’d recovered them all. For the second time in a day, Kurapika’s eyes filled with tears, and this time he didn’t fight them. He sat back on the bed and wrapped his arms around himself tightly as he wept, nearly doubled over with old pain and fresh relief. 

It was over.

He looked up at the eyes again once he was able to uncurl himself, hoping that he’d find some hint of absolution in their emptiness. Instead, he noticed a folded piece of paper tucked between two of the canisters. He pulled it out. It was a note, written in messy, angular script: _You’ll have your chain back once H is dead. Remember you have the power to speed that along. CL._

Kurapika threw a clean shirt over the eyes to cover them, then pulled out a map of the Black Whale and rolled it out on the floor. He knelt down and let his Dowsing Chain dangle over the map as he focused his thoughts on Hisoka. The ball at the end of the chain circled with the minute motions of the ship before pointing rigidly at a spot near the rear of the Second Deck. 

He pulled out his phone and texted Chrollo, _Freight cargo area, second deck stern on the starboard side._ He tapped the contact info and hovered his finger over the “delete contact” button. But instead, he swiped back to the message and typed one more.

_Careful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
